


The Longest Night of the Year

by suburbanmotel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Christmas Presents, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Angst, Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 15:12:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16997385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suburbanmotel/pseuds/suburbanmotel
Summary: Stiles is going to give Derek a Good and Meaningful present for Christmas, dammit.Even if it kills him.





	The Longest Night of the Year

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for organizing such a fun fest!
> 
> Happy Holidays!

//

 

 _Yes, in winter there must be/some healing_  
~ Bella Akhmadulina, “Winter”

 

 _When it is darkest, men see the stars._  
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

//

 

“I’m getting Derek a present for Christmas.” Stiles announces this to no one in particular and no one really pays much attention. Scott kind of raises his eyebrows and sighs and Erica smirks and maybe rolls her eyes but Stiles can’t tell for sure and Isaac doesn’t react at all. They’re watching a movie, One Magic Christmas, which is definitely Christmas-y but mostly really fucking sad, and Stiles is looking around Derek’s newly rented apartment, at the fake tree in the corner, set up and decorated by Erica and Boyd, because Derek has some weird opposition to cutting down and murdering live trees for a holiday he’s not very keen on to begin with, apparently. He looks at the cheap silver garland looped over window sills and the balls of mistletoe that Erica stuck above the doorways, everything brand new and too shiny and completely impersonal. Derek is out at the moment; he and Boyd are picking up Chinese food for everyone and it’s a week before Christmas and for some reason Stiles feels both overwhelming sadness and the overwhelming need to announce this.

“So that’s what I’m doing,” he says, more definitively this time.

“Ok,” says Scott. He reaches over and pats Stiles’ leg.

No one speaks for a minute.

“What are you getting him?” Erica asks and she actually seems mildly interested. Stiles draws a blank. He has absolutely no idea what to get Derek for Christmas but he knows he has to get him something. Because of the garish twinkly gold star on top of the fake tree. Because of the store-bought decorations that have no history, no meaning, purchased and unloaded two days before for the benefit of his pack and placed, mostly carefully, on stiff green branches that stink of plastic. Because of _Derek_.

“I’m not sure yet.” Stiles crosses his arms tight across his chest. He feels defensive, like anything he suggests will be met with derisive laughter and chiding. “But something _good_. Something _meaningful_.”

He looks around. Everyone has lost what small amount of interest they originally had in the subject. Stiles sighs, quiet and almost relieved. He can do this. He can find something _good_ and _meaningful_ for Derek.

After all, Stiles is nothing if not an avid and thorough researcher.

 

//

 

Journal  


_Werewolves are very often unable to share their innermost struggles, thoughts and emotions with others. A journal or diary can be the perfect outlet to express themselves and makes a great gift!_

 

//

 

Stiles buys a black, leather-bound journal and wraps it in paper decorated with tiny Santas cavorting on the backs of candy-cane chewing reindeers. It’s a bit of an expensive gift, out of his price range, but it’s something he wants, something he _needs_ to do. He’s not even sure why. Something about Derek’s apartment had set him off the other night and now it’s stuck in his head and it’s a goal, he’s driven to give Derek the perfect present this year, despite never having given Derek a present before and they’ve certainly never _exchanged_ gifts over the years.

He wipes slightly moist palms on his pants and knocks lightly on Derek’s apartment door on the morning of December 21. He was going to wait until Christmas but decided no, he wanted Derek to have at least one present under his sad, sadly decorated tree. It’s important that he has something waiting for him on Christmas morning, despite him having absolutely no idea what Derek even does on Christmas. He assumes he does something but with who? Will the pack even be around? Do they all exchange gifts? When Stiles had brought up his idea the other night no one had offered any of their own suggestions so maybe not.

He knocks again and swallows hard. The door swings open. Derek is standing there looking as inscrutable as always. He just stares at Stiles like he’s not surprised to find him there holding a brightly wrapped, seasonally-appropriate package in his hands.

“Hey, there. Hey dude. Derek.” Stiles nods and stammers like an idiot. “I got you a present. For Christmas. To put under your tree. Here. It’s for you.” He shoves it at Derek. Derek takes it and stares at it like he’s never seen such a thing in all his life.

“What is it.” He shakes it, like he’s five.

Stiles wags a finger. “Uh uh. It’s for Christmas morning. It’s a _surprise_. For Christmas.” Derek just looks at him.

“Why.”

Stiles sighs. “I don’t know. Because it’s what you do. What people do. They get presents for people. At Christmas.” Eventually Stiles runs out of things to say. Derek continues to watch him, his expression slowly changing from one of confusion to something else. Something more watchful. Thoughtful.

“I don’t want it,” he says. He doesn’t say it unkindly but it still stabs Stiles right through the heart.

“You don’t even know what it is.” Stiles holds up his hands and tries backing away a bit. Derek holds the present out with intent.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It might matter. You might really like it. You might think it’s the best, coolest, most awesome—”

“It’s not what I _want_ , Stiles.” His voice is surprisingly gentle, but still firm and unyielding.

“Uh.” Stiles says. He feels rather stunned, though he’s not sure why. It is Derek, after all. He takes the present back. “Ok, I guess.” He looks at Derek. “What _do_ you want, then?”

Derek just gives him a _look_ and slowly closes the door.

“Well fuck,” says Stiles.

 

//

 

Binoculars  


_Werewolves spend a lot of time outdoors and enjoy being outside even when they’re not in werewolf form. Binoculars are a great gift that they can use when they’re out on an adventure._

 

//

 

Stiles is awake most of the night, fingers tapping madly over the keyboard, eyes squinting against the glare. There has to be _something_ Derek wants. Something Meaningful, something Important. This is a goddamn mission and Stiles has accepted.

He staggers blearily out of his room the next morning armed with a truly impressive idea, ready to face another morning of werewolf holiday shopping. He slurps coffee and shoves down a piece of toast and waves to his dad who is reading the paper and eating scrambled eggs.

“Where you off to so early?”

“Shopping. Got a few more things to buy. Running out of time, you know.”

“You have a few days.”

“It’s the 22nd, Dad. Gotta hustle.”

“It’s the 21st Stiles. You’re still ok.”

Stiles shakes his head. “It’s the 22nd.” 

John points at the chocolate advent calendar he’s hung on the kitchen wall, the cheap dollar store kind that has graced the Stilinski household every December for as long as Stiles can remember, a tradition that started with his mom. Stiles staggers over and peers at the little cardboard doors. Sure enough, number 21 is still closed. He blinks. He pries it open with some effort and flips the chocolate out. A star. He stares at it.

“But.”

“Get more sleep,” is all John says as Stiles rushes past him and out the door.

 

//

 

It’s December 21 and Stiles is standing at Derek’s apartment door.

“Here,” Stiles says, shoving the gift at him. It’s wrapped in red paper decorated with dancing snowmen in top hats trimmed with holly.

Derek doesn’t take it. He barely even glances at it. He looks at Stiles intently.

“You’re welcome,” Stiles says.

Derek doesn’t say anything.

“This is the part where you say thank you, Stiles. You’re very thoughtful, Stiles. It was kind of you to think of me, Stiles. Would you like to come in for hot chocolate topped with marshmallows, Stiles.”

“It’s very nice, I’m sure,” Derek says. “And it _was_ kind of you. But it’s not what I _want_.” He pauses. “And I don’t have any hot chocolate. Or marshmallows.”

Derek smiles just a bit as he closes his door.

 

//

 

Noise canceling headphones  


_Many werewolves can find the sounds of urban life distracting and disheartening. Give your werewolf the gift of solitude! Noise canceling headphones are a great way to escape the hustle, bustle, and noise that can come with living in a city environment._

 

//

 

Stiles slurps coffee and shoves toast in his mouth and stumbles to his chocolate calendar to open the number 22 door.

“It’s the 21st Stiles,” says John, who has appeared behind him, watching as Stiles fumbles with the tiny door. He doesn’t have any nails, is the problem, and trying to open these stupid things with no nails is _impossible_.

“No it’s _not_ ,” Stiles says and he’s positive this time. Yesterday was the 21st which means today is the 22nd and he’s not making that mistake again.

John just holds his phone in front of Stiles’ face and taps the date with one finger. December 21.

Jesus Fucking Christ. What is going _on_?

“I’m so confused,” Stiles says. He stares at his calendar. This year it’s decorated with three fat, jolly elves taking a joy ride in a car along with Santa, a giant gingerbread man and two laughing reindeer. He finally pulls the 21 open with slightly shaky fingers and flips the chocolate out. A star. “I’m losing it,” he says.

“It’s that time of year,” John says, patting Stiles’ shoulder. “We all get a little crazy right before the holidays.”

 

//

 

Apparently it’s December 21 and Stiles is standing at Derek’s apartment door. They’re having an argument, albeit a rather one-sided one.

“How do you know if you don’t open the damn thing?”

“I just know.” Derek tilts his head. “Just like I know you’ll go home and do more research and buy something else and show up again tomorrow.”

Then he closes the door, slowly.

“Can you at least give me a _hint_?” Stiles yells and is not surprised when he gets no response.

 

//

 

Sunglasses  


_Werewolves are creatures of the night. No, they do not fear sunlight like vampires do, but still, they are at optimum under cover of darkness…so why not give them a present for the daytime? Sunglasses are a great option!_

 

//

 

It’s December 21 again and Stiles is standing at Derek’s apartment door. He’s very tired and very confused but has decided to stop fighting it.

“Stiles,” Derek says. His voice is low and measured and careful. “I don’t. This isn’t.” He sighs out through his nose. He’s frustrated. Stiles knows the Derek-Is-Frustrated-With-Stiles sigh pretty much by heart at this point.

“What?” Stiles is actually a bit hurt now. This gift actually seemed pretty perfect, fitting in nicely with the whole mysterious, brooding, bad-boy vibe he loves to exude.

“Listen to what I’m saying,” Derek says. “This isn’t what I want.”

“You’re really fucking hard to please, you know that?” Stiles says.

"I'm really not." Derek sighs and shakes his head as he closes his door. “You just need to listen.”

 

//

 

Piece of art  


_A well-chosen piece of art (that you buy or create yourself) can be a great gift for a werewolf. Art can help you escape into someplace peaceful, it can soothe the mind and calm the soul. Choose something with a nature scene to get these types of emotions – a brook running through a woods, a picture of a night sky filled with stars, or a picture of a solitary tree on hilltop are a few ideas._

 

//

 

“This is getting really old,” Stiles says as Derek moves to shut his door.

“I agree,” Derek says, pausing in the doorway.

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Stiles says, staring down at his gift, wrapped in paper covered with multi-coloured snowflakes. He shakes his head. “This is so deja vu right now. Like, I feel like we've been here before.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “Well yes, you’ve been to my apartment on numerous occasions.” 

“No, seriously. We’ve been _here_ , doing this exact same song and dance for like, god, days and days, it seems.” Stiles looks around. “Do _you_ know what’s going on?”

Derek sighs. “All I know is you’re determined, for some reason, to give me a gift and I am telling you it’s not what I want. So.” He shrugs and fixes Stiles with that look again, the one that drives Stiles more than a little crazy. It’s that thoughtful look, the one Stiles hasn’t seen very often but makes his heart stutter and sweat form under the rim of his beanie.

“I’m gonna get this right. I swear.”

Derek smiles now, a little genuine one.

Then he says, just before he shuts his door, “I hope so.”

 

//

 

Eye mask  


_Great idea for an urban werewolf girl – an eye mask can be used to great effect to escape from the world!_

 

//

 

“No Stiles.”

“UGH.”

 

//

 

Music  


_Music can be the key to many things – it can help with emotional and physical struggles, it can calm, it can excite, it can make you sad or happy. Choose something that relays the message you want to send._

 

//

 

It’s December 21 and Stiles has consumed his coffee and toast and eaten his chocolate star and stopped arguing with his dad about what day it is because there’s no point and he’s late. He’s later than usual getting to Derek’s apartment because of traffic and annoying shoppers and indecision and he runs across the road clutching his present and gets hit by a car. There’s a lot of screeching and shouting and, in the distance, sirens, and there’s a lot of pain and maybe some blood even, and it’s hard to breathe and his leg might be broken and when he finally opens his eyes and looks up he’s staring right into the frantic, half-crazed beautiful face of Derek Hale.

“Jesus, Stiles. You didn’t even _look_. What were you _thinking_?” His cold shaky hands are all over Stiles’ bruised and bloody face, in his hair, down the sides of his neck, his shoulders.

“Got you a present,” Stiles gasps. "It's a good one, too. You're gonna _love_ it." He gestures to the package lying beside him in the road. It’s wet and torn and most likely destroyed. Derek doesn’t even glance at it. He looks, in fact, like he’s about to start crying.

“Stiles, don’t ever do that again. Please.”

“What, almost get killed by a car?”

Derek leans down and Stiles swears he can feel cold, shaky lips brush his forehead and just before he passes out he hears, “It’s not what I _want_.”

 

//

 

Book on meditation / book on languages  


_Any book in general is a good gift as many werewolves are constantly striving for answers and information. Books on meditation are great in that they can especially help newer werewolves with their struggles. Books on languages are great as werewolves often find themselves meeting people from across the world._

 

//

 

He pries open the 21st calendar door. He eats the star. He sighs.

 

//

 

Puzzle  


_This is a highly overlooked gift and one that not many think of, but a good jigsaw puzzle is incredibly relaxing and can improve focus and help still the mind, two things that newer werewolves especially are often focusing on._

 

//

 

“I’m starting to think I’ll never get this right.”

“You will. I have faith in you,” is all Derek says. But he doesn't look entirely sure.

 

//

 

“What would you buy for the pickiest, most annoying, ungrateful, aggravating person in the entire world?” Stiles asks his father at dinner. They’re eating spaghetti and drinking milk and Stiles knows there is pie for dessert and he feels inordinately excited about this. This is what his life has become lately: excited for pie. “They don’t like _anything_ I’ve bought so far.”

“What do you mean so far?” John asks.

Stiles lists his long and admittedly rather expensive array of presents and watches his father’s eyes widen in something that resembles quiet horror.

“You bought all of those for one person?”

“Oh no, no,” Stiles stammers, twirling his noodles aggressively, his face going red. “I mean, I did, but I returned them all. I think.” He pauses. He’s not quite sure where all the presents have gone. They just seem to magically disappear each night. Or morning. It’s a mystery. It’s all a mystery. Every single day is a big fat mystery right now, apparently.

“You _think_?” John closes his eyes. “This is the Lydia Martin thing all over again, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Stiles says. He shoves spaghetti in his mouth. It’s _not_ like that, but what it _is_ like he’s not quite sure. He attempts to talk with a full mouth. “It’s not like Lydia. Promise. That. That was a silly teenage infatuation. This is. Different.”

“Different.”

Stiles nods vigorously.

“Ok, so who might this picky, annoying, ungrateful, aggravating person you seem determined to impress with expensive gifts be?”

“Uh.” Stiles gulps milk, then chokes, spraying food all over the table. John doesn’t even flinch. He just sighs. “It might be Derek Hale?”

“Derek Hale.” John presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Dear god.”

Stiles stabs at his plate with his fork while he waits for his father to gather himself.

“Stiles,” John says at last. “Are you _courting_ Derek Hale?”

Stiles splutters. “No! No. No I’m not. No! Why would you even say that?”

“Because, son, you bought him _nine_ thoughtful, well-researched _expensive_ gifts for Christmas and he didn’t like any of them and that still hasn’t deterred you from blazing onwards.”

“That’s not. That’s not what’s happening, really. And I didn’t buy them all. I mean. I _bought_ them, but it’s weird. Like. The amount of money I’ve spent doesn’t quite add up to the amount of presents I have. In my possession. Currently.” He shakes his head. “It’s hard to explain. My life is very…strange at the moment.”

John snorts. “For a change.” He sighs. “Stiles, regardless of how _strange_ your life is, the fact remains that you’re sitting here moping about buying Derek Hale the perfect Christmas present and for the life of me I can’t figure out why. So I’m going to ask you again, do you like Derek Hale?”

“Like... _like_?” Stiles heart sputters.

“Yes, Stiles. _Like_ like. As in _like_.”

Stiles stops fidgeting. He stops chewing and stabbing and blinking and breathing. John watches him, his face a mixture of amusement and impatience.

“Yes,” Stiles says at last. Shit.

“Yes, Stiles,” John says. “Yes, for whatever godforsaken reason, you do. You like him. So, because I love you and because it’s Christmas, and because I’m tired of you wasting both money and brain cells I’m going to give you some advice.”

Stiles leans forward, chest pressing against the edge of the table painfully. “You are? Like…good advice?”

“I happen to have known the Hale family long before you became aware of them, before the fire, years ago, when your mom was still alive—” John swallows — “and I know some things about them, some important details that might help you out. Are you listening?”

Stiles leans forward harder. He rests his elbows on the table, one of them in his plate of spaghetti. He doesn’t notice. He nods. He’s listening.

 

//

 

Star gazing equipment  


_Another great gift idea for the outdoors-loving werewolf is anything related to star-gazing. A werewolf in the city especially will appreciate this thoughtful idea._

 

//

 

“It’s December 21,” Stiles says when he appears at Derek’s door on the night of December 21. Derek nods. He looks down at Stiles’ empty hands.

“It is,” Derek says.

“Winter Solstice,” Stiles says.

“Yes,” Derek says.

“Longest night of the year,” Stiles says.

Derek smiles a little.

“Put some warm clothes on,” Stiles says. “We’re going out.”

It’s quiet while they drive. Stiles has the radio tuned to the local station that plays only Christmas music this time of year, but he has it turned low, just background noise, really. He watches the road and occasionally, the side of Derek’s face. Derek seems calm, not curious about what’s going on or where they might be going. He looks out the window at the darkness and the dark shapes of trees as they pass. It’s a clear night, inky black sky, but no clouds. No clouds. Stiles can’t stop smiling.

They park at the edge of the preserve, near the treeline but enough out in the open for a perfectly clear view. Stiles grabs his backpack from the back seat and gets out and Derek follows him. He hoists himself up on the hood of the Jeep and after a moment, Derek does the same. The engine is warm beneath them and feels good against Stiles’ back and legs. Stiles opens his bag and rummages around, pulling out a thermos and two cups. He opens it and pours carefully. He puts the lid back on and hands one to Derek.

“Hot chocolate,” he says. Derek holds it and Stiles can see him biting back a smile. He’s about to take a sip when Stiles starts.

“Oh, shit! Wait!” He reaches down and pulls out a small baggie. He carefully places six mini-marshmallows in Derek’s cup, and then in his. “There,” he says, satisfied. Derek shakes his head, like he can’t quite believe what is happening but he doesn’t stop smiling.

They lean back, side by side and look up.

“At the December solstice,” Stiles says, “the Earth is positioned in its orbit so that the sun stays below the north pole horizon. As seen from 23-and-a-half degrees south of the equator, at the imaginary line encircling the globe known as the Tropic of Capricorn, the sun shines directly overhead at noon. This is as far south as the sun ever gets. All locations south of the equator have day lengths greater than 12 hours at the December solstice. Meanwhile, all locations north of the equator have day lengths less than 12 hours.” He pauses. “I memorized that.”

“I figured,” Derek says with a small laugh. He sips his hot chocolate.

“ _Also_ ,” Stiles continues smugly, “Winter Solstice celebrations are some of the world's oldest holidays, and there are more rituals associated with this solstice than for any other time of the year. Prior to Christian times, Romans called it Dies Natalis Invicti Solis, the Birthday of the Unconquered Sun. In Rome it was the time of Saturnalia, a notoriously wild holiday, so I’ve heard.”

Derek has turned and is looking at him very carefully. “I know all this, too.”

Stiles nods. “I know you do.” He pauses. "It's also a perfect night for looking at the stars."

It's quiet for a bit, then. Dark and still.

“My family didn’t really celebrate Christmas,” Derek says suddenly. “Not like lots of families celebrate, at least.” He pauses. “Not a lot of presents. Maybe some hand-made things. Nothing expensive. There were…a lot of us, back then.” Derek swallows. Stiles watches the side of his face. “We just gathered together, as many of us as we could and there was music and baking and eating. Sometimes singing. Then a walk in the woods.” He pauses. “And stargazing. Always stargazing.”

Derek reaches over with his free hand and finds Stiles’, and slides their palms together, fingers twining. They sit side by side on the hood of Stiles’ Jeep, wrapped in their coats, breath pluming white around their faces. They finish their hot chocolate and Stiles packs everything away and moves closer to Derek, taking his hand again and holding on tight.

“I wanted to get you a telescope,” Stiles says at last. “For, you know, proper stargazing. But, I couldn’t afford it. And my dad would have thrown bigger fit than he already has. He thinks I’ve lost my mind.” Stiles sighs. “I’m starting to think he may be right, after this week.”

Derek just smiles.

“He’s the one who helped me figure it out, finally,” Stiles says quietly. “Like, about your family, and maybe about you, too.”

Derek looks at him. His eyes are both dark and bright. Stiles is mesmerized.

“He also said maybe the best gift I could give you was to just spend some time with you.”

Derek nods. “Your dad is a very wise man.”

The sky is very dark and the night is very quiet.

“Look,” Derek says. “Look.” He guides Stiles’ hand up, up towards the dark, cold night sky. “There. Do you see? Do you see?”

And it’s Orion and Taurus, Auriga, Perseus, Cassiopeia, Gemini and the Canis Major. Derek guides Stiles’ hand over the constellations one by one, carefully and patiently, holding on to the bare skin of Stiles’ wrist with cold fingers, pointing up at the winter sky, helping Stiles to see. And Stiles sees them all.

 

//

 

The back of Stiles’ Jeep is not really conducive to anything considered even remotely rambunctious or sweet or _sexual_ , but Stiles is more than willing to give it a go. Jackets and shirts stay on but pants are unbuttoned, unzipped, pushed down. Derek can’t stop kissing Stiles, and it’s a thing apparently, his mouth all over Stiles’ face, his eyebrows, and hairline, his chin and the tip of his nose. A lot of time is spent on his lips and even his teeth and all of this combined with Derek’s hot, strong hand down the front of Stiles’ pants makes him crazy, hips bucking and blunt fingers digging into Derek’s shoulders and the sides of his neck and he comes with a shout that seems to spur Derek on almost immediately after. They lay panting, chests hitching as Derek traces the bones of Stiles’ face down to his collarbones and the racing pulse in his neck.

“Come home with me,” Stiles says. And Derek does.

 

//

 

Stiles wakes up with his nose pressed against the warm, slightly salty skin of Derek’s neck and his arms looped lightly over the warm, slightly sweaty skin of Derek’s chest. He listens to Derek breathe and watches his dark eyelashes twitch because they’re beautiful and fascinating and because he can.

He leans over Derek to look at his phone and laughs. It’s the 22. It’s December 22.

“It’s December 22,” Stiles says. His voice is dry and cracked but he’s happy. He’s so happy he could cry. He pushes his face into the space between Derek’s shoulder blades and blinks hard. Derek makes a morning noise and stirs and rolls over.

He presses dry lips to Stiles’ and smiles at the same time. It’s an interesting sensation, a new discovery, kissing and smiling at the same time. Stiles decides he likes it.

“You’re here,” Stiles says like he can’t believe it. “You’re here and we’re here and.”

“I was worried you might never figure it out,” Derek says, and looks almost shy.

Stiles presses a hand to Derek’s chest. “But I always figure it out.”

“You do.”

They breathe together for a minute, quiet and slow.

“Did you do all this?” Stiles asks at last, already knowing the answer.

“Do what?”

“This,” Stiles says, gesturing between the two of them. “Did you _do_ all this?”

Derek watches him, almost as if debating what to say. “It’s a magical time of year, Stiles. And werewolves are known to have heightened powers during this month.” He shrugs a little.

“Ok,” is all Stiles says, because why not? He kisses Derek’s shoulder. “Here’s to magical werewolves, then. And December 22.”

“And constellations,” Derek says.

“And ill-advised gift ideas.” Stiles kisses his ear.

“And the Winter Solstice,” Derek says, pulling him close.

“And us,” Stiles says, kissing his mouth.

“And you,” says Derek, voice quiet as a night sky.

 

//


End file.
